Missions
by xoxfiresignx
Summary: Everyone has their own mission. Sometimes they help each other, sometimes not. But when it comes to a certain prosecutor and a certain infamous thief, crossing paths is more dangerous than anyone ever anticipated.
1. Prelude

**Missions**

_Everyone has their own mission. Sometimes they help each other, sometimes not. But when it comes to a certain prosecutor and a certain infamous thief, crossing paths is more dangerous than anyone ever anticipated._

a.n.

This is a story about the Yatagarasu.

* * *

Prelude 

They met at midnight, as was tradition, at the place to which they were all connected, the place that had drawn them together. Some might call it coincidence that they had this place in common, but luckily, none of them believed in coincidence.

They arrived in shadow and they remained in shadow. They formed a triangle of denser darkness, each standing at a vertex of the shape and facing the other two. There was absolute silence save for the crickets chirping merrily in the late August air. They stared at each other, standing stock-still as though locked in the spell cast by the warm summer wind.

Then the first shadow spoke.

"At midnight, when no other birds dare fly . . ."

The spell was broken; all three shadows laughed. They moved in unison, sitting on the dry ground. It had always been like that: three people, one entity. Three names, one identity.

The Yatagarasu.

The second shadow produced a bottle and three glasses as though from nowhere. "Let's celebrate!"

The first shadow accepted the glass and took a long drink, but the third shadow hesitated.

"I . . . I can't."

The first two shadows shared a glance and a light chuckle. "Don't worry," the second shadow urged. "Just drink."

Looking wary, the third shadow took a tiny, nervous sip, but then grinned broadly. "Grape juice." They all laughed again.

Then the third shadow's glass was in the air, and the other two followed suit and raised their own tumblers high.

"To our fiftieth successful heist!" the third shadow declared.

"To our dedication to the truth!" the second shadow added emphatically.

The first shadow stared at the glasses, the blood-red liquid turned black in the moonlight. The cups connected in the centre of the circle, representing the three of them forming one.

"To the Yatagarasu."

* * *

a.n.

More will be explained in later chapters. I had to try very hard to keep this as vague as possible XD. Feel free to guess about whatever you like.


	2. Prologue

**Missions**

_Everyone has their own mission. Sometimes they help each other, sometimes not. But when it comes to a certain prosecutor and a certain infamous thief, crossing paths is more dangerous than anyone ever anticipated._

a.n.

Here is the second installment, still setting the scene.

* * *

Prologue

Lotta Hart was not a patient person. This much was obvious by the way she was pacing around the office, muttering to herself about how "it should be here by now", and "dagnabbit postal service ain't worth a darn". Her hair was even bigger than normal, and she was doing nothing to help the situation; she was, in fact, periodically running her hands through it, expanding the miraculous sphere each time until the people watching her felt as though they would be swallowed up by it. Finally, her supervisor lost his own (rather limited) patience.

"Hart, is there any particular reason why you're wearing a hole in the floor?!" he snapped, completely fed up with her antics.

She whipped her head around so fast that several of her coworkers dove for cover beneath their desks. "Reckon 'course!" she snapped right back, not seeming to care that she was talking back to her boss. And, unfortunately, her supervisor could really do nothing about it, thanks to the 'exclusive contract' that the incorrigible woman had brought to his newspaper.

"Just sit down," he said wearily. "I'm sure you'll get it soon, the post office has only been open for ten minutes."

Glaring, Lotta moved back to her desk, ignoring the sighs of relief let out by her coworkers as her dangerous hair moved away from them. She collapsed into her seat, grabbing a pencil and tapping it frustratedly against the side of the desk. None of these people understood the importance of speed, she thought grimly. Her old professions had been all about who could get there first; as a paranormal photographer and a tabloid writer, a scoop was only good if you had it first. Now, even though she had a cushy job with the city's largest newspaper, she was loathe to give up on that sense of urgency. It made her who she was: Lotta Hart, journalist exclusive to the —

"Lotta." She looked up, ready to a) snap at the postman for being late, or b) snap at anyone else for disturbing her moment of personal reflection. But it was her closest friend at the office, one Marcus Absent, who wrote a garden advice column and came from the Heartland, just like her. So instead of shouting, she smiled. "How d'ya know you'll get it today?"

She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a small, circular card. One side was marked with a familiar image; the other held a single line of print. She showed the back side to him.

"November 14th. That's today, ain't it?" she asked. Marcus studied the writing intensely, at one point trying to take it from Lotta's hand. But she held it with a vice-like grip that could make a pitbull jealous, so he gave up and looked away from the precious card.

"So it is." She put the card away, making a mental note to hide it somewhere different as soon as Marcus went back to his own desk. Marcus raised an eyebrow at her paranoid expression. "What do you think it'll be about this time?"

"No ahdea." she grinned, showing all of her pearly whites. "But it's sure ta be somethin' scandalous, ain't it?"

Marcus grinned back, but a hint of jealousy clouded his features. "It usually is." He waved vaguely at her and walked away, back to his cubicle. She watched him suspiciously as he went, then dove quickly into her desk and pulled out the circular card she'd shown him and hid it in a different drawer. In a job like this, it paid to be paranoid. She had a whole stack of similar cards in a triple-locked safe in her apartment. One could never be too careful.

She didn't even notice the postman standing in front of her desk until he cleared his throat, making her jump and hit her forehead against the lamp on her desk. "Dagnabbit!" she swore, rubbing the injured spot. Then she noticed the postman and vaulted to her feet, all pain forgotten. "D'ya got it?!" she demanded, holding out her hand and almost shaking with excitement.

The postman placed a legal-sized envelope in her outstretched hand, and she grinned like the Cheshire cat. It was heavy, which was always a good sign.

"Found it pushed under the door this morning, as usual," the postman said, watching Lotta as she weighed the envelope greedily in her hands. "Hope you get more of the truth out there." Lotta didn't respond; she never did. The postman sighed and left without another word. This was the fiftieth time he'd hand-delivered such an envelope to her, and she'd yet to say 'thank you' or ask how his day was. But in the end it didn't matter, as long as the truth came to light.

Lotta shook the envelope and heard the satisfying sound of something heavy falling back and forth. She opened it excitedly and let the heavy thing fall into her hand. It was a coin, made of silver with a black symbol stamped in the middle of it; a three-legged bird. A raven.

This was Lotta's exclusive contract. For some odd, strange reason, the Yatagarasu, the Great Thief who only stole the truth, sent its information only to Lotta Hart.

She tugged the papers out of the envelope and began to read. The more she read, the bigger her smile grew. These past three years had been the best out of the thirty-six she'd been alive. She was the most prolific journalist in the entire city, perhaps even the whole country. And she was the one who brought the truth to light.

She opened her laptop, called up her word processing program, and began to type. This was the second Yatagarasu's fiftieth truth. It deserved some fanfare.

* * *

a.n.

The next chapter will start the actual story.


	3. Chapter One

**Missions**

_Everyone has their own mission. Sometimes they help each other, sometimes not. But when it comes to a certain prosecutor and a certain infamous thief, crossing paths is more dangerous than anyone ever anticipated._

a.n.

1. The Yatagarasu always knows the exact location of the target.

* * *

Chapter One 

Maya Fey was just about the enter the large, mystical Channeling Chamber when she noticed a familiar figure heading out into the dusty streets of Kurain Village. "Pearl! Wait!"

The younger woman paused and looked back, her mouth opening in a delicate "o" of surprise when she saw her cousin standing there with one hand halfway through turning the large black key that opened the chamber. "Maya!" Pearl smoothed the front of her pale purple robes down and blushed slightly. "I was just — "

"You weren't going to leave without telling me, were you?" At times like this, Pearl could truly understand how her cousin had become the most respected Master in the history of the Kurain Channeling tradition next to Ami Fey herself. She was giving Pearl a disappointed look so potent that the 20-year-old acolyte wanted to hang her head in shame.

"N-no, o-of course not." Pearl couldn't suppress the blush that deepened on her cheeks. "I wouldn't presume to leave the village without your permission, Mystic Maya."

At that, Maya laughed, her silky dark hair flying around her as she tossed her hair back. "It's not a question of _permission_, Pearly," the older woman chortled, her expression softening into a grin. "But I have a letter for you to bring to Nick. Stay here, I'll run and get it."

Pearl sighed as Maya flew down the Winding Way, towards her room. Pearl often made trips into the city, and every time she brought a letter from Maya to Phoenix Wright. Phoenix Wright was one of Pearl's oldest friends, a defense attorney, and had, at one point, been Maya's mentor. But that had been before Maya had inherited the title of 'Master' and before Phoenix had lost his attorney's badge. In the twelve years since, Maya had been forced to take on the full responsibilities of the Fey name, and Phoenix had been raising an adoptive daughter, mentoring another lawyer, Apollo Justice, and studying to retake his bar exam. Neither had the time to visit the other, and so their correspondence was limited to letters carried back and forth by Pearl at least once a week.

Pearl could guess, by their reactions, the contents of the letters. When she brought one to Nick, his normally serious face broke into a massive grin and he locked himself in his bedroom to read and reply to it. When she came home from the city, Maya bombarded her with question about how Nick looked, what he'd said . . . and then she, too, would lock herself away to read his response. They were very obviously in love, but neither of them would dare to admit it.

Maya reappeared suddenly, a wistful smile on her face, and pressed a thick, parchment envelope into her cousin's hands. "Don't forget to tell him that we miss him, and if he asks, tell him that I've been well." Pearl rolled her eyes as she tucked the letter into her robes. Maya always gave her this little pep talk. "And tell him he could try and get for a visit, if he can."

"Why don't you just propose to him?" Pearl hadn't meant to say it, but her thoughts came spilling from her lips before she could stop them. Maya blushed a deep scarlet, clashing wonderfully with her violet robes.

"I don't know what you mean."

Feel very much like the clichéd petulant teenager, Pearl rolled her eyes again. "You're in love with him, he's in love with you. It's a bit of a no-brainer." Ever since Pearl has started her periodic trips into the city three years before, she had become far more comfortable with the language and expressions of her generation, something that Maya was normally ridiculously pleased about.

In this case, however, Maya was too busy stammering to be impressed by Pearl's verbal prowess.

"It's not . . . not . . . just . . . it's . . .I . . . um . . . it's just not the right time."

"Well, the right time had better come soon!" Pearl countered, undeterred by Maya's awkwardness. "You're thirty-one years old, Maya. Nick is thirty-eight. You're both running out of time."

Maya opened and closed her mouth several times without making a sound. Then her eyes feeling with tears and her head drooped.

"You'll miss the train if you don't hurry," she muttered. Pearl pulled her cousin into a quick, tight hug before pushing through the manor's enormous double doors and emerging into the November sunlight.

..m.i.s.s.i.o.n.s..

"Pearls! It's great to see you!" The man pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace the moment he opened the door, Grinning, Pearl threw her arms just as tightly around him and squeezed right back.

"I'm getting a little old to be called 'Pearls', Nick," she laughed, once he'd released her and let her into his apartment/office/talent agency. "It's bad enough that Maya still calls me 'Pearly' in private." At the mention of Maya's name, Phoenix Wright's eyes lit up like the fourth of July fireworks they'd gone to see at Gourd Lake earlier that summer. Pearl could tell that Nick was itching for his letter, but was too polite to ask about it.

"Nonsense!" he cried jovially, tossing the shoes she'd just slipped off into his front-hall closet and leading her to the cluttered kitchen table, where a pot of tea sat waiting for her. She could tell from the scent in the air that it was chamomile; her favourite. "You can't be any older than Trucy."

"Actually, as of last week, I am," she grinned settling into her usual seat and taking the mug full of tea that Nick offered her. "And may I remind you that Trucy is twenty years old and a junior at Ivy University?"

"Don't remind me," Nick groaned, pouring himself a glass of grape juice from a bottle beside the teapot. "It's horrifying to think that two Junes from now we'll be going to her graduation, and then waiting anxiously for the results of her bar exams."

"Lucky that her dad and brother are defense attorneys and she's friends with two prosecutors." Grinning, she took a sip of her tea. It was scalding hot with a hint of lemon and honey hiding before the flavour of chamomile: exactly the way she liked it. They sat together in companionable silence while they each drank their beverage of choice. Every sip was a delicious explosion of flavour and aroma; Nick had definitely gotten a knack for making Pearl's perfect cup of tea. Once she'd finished the mug, she mentioned this to him and he blushed modestly.

"Well, you can't be a lawyer if you're not observant." He smiled fondly at her and took another gulp of his staple grape juice. "Speaking of which, I assume you need the T.V. again?"

She nodded. "As usual."

He set down his glass and got to his feet; she mimicked him. "The back room is all set up for you," he said, gesturing towards the room is question, the room that used to belong to Trucy, before she got her own apartment, closer to campus. "Take as long as you need."

Pearl nodded again. "Thanks so much, Nick." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the latter. As soon as it escaped the folds of purple fabric, Nick's eyes latched greedily on the parchment. "Here's something to keep you entertained while I'm busy."

He practically ripped the letter from her grasp. "Thank you, Pearl. _Thank you_." He retreated into his room, his hands shaking as he opened the envelope. Pearl watching him go, feeling slightly sad. She remembered her word to Maya, only hours earlier: _"You're in love with him, he's in love with you."_ Every time she saw the attorney, those words became more true.

She waited until she was sure he was gone before slipping quietly into the back room and locking it behind her. This was the real reason she came to the city so often: to use this T.V. Nick thought she was catching up on programs she'd missed while being out of technological touch in Kurain Village, but the real reason was far more sinister.

Out of her pocket came a video cassette, and empty notebook, and a pen. She slid the video into the VCR and pressed play, crouched on the floor in front of the T.V. Her own image appeared on the screen.

"Hello," the T.V.-Pearl said in a gentle, soothing voice. "My name is Pearl Fey, and I am a spirit medium. As you know, you are dead, and you are currently inhabiting my body. You were chosen because — " She pressed fast-forward until she was about halfway through the tape. Then she pressed play again. " — write down everything you know about what we should look for and where — " She fast-forwarded to the end. "— down slowly from five to zero and just relax. I'll take my body back again, and then I will be able to ensure that your soul can finally rest." The tape ended.

Confident that it was all in working order, she pressed rewind and went about setting up the room. She opened the notebook to the first page and placed it, along with the pen, on the low coffee table in front of the couch. The tape clicked, having been returned to the beginning of the film, and Pearl settled herself comfortable on the couch. Then she opened her mind.

She felt around for sadness, anger, and frustration. Almost immediately, she found a soul that fit the bill and pulled it carefully into her. Her vision faded slowly, and she pressed play on the remote control just as everything went black.

..m.i.s.s.i.o.n.s..

She awoke some time later — how long, she had no idea. Her left hand felt as though it had been crushed under a Steel Samurai costume and her head pounded. She looked down at her hand and a wave of dizziness rushed to her head. She closed her eyes until the vertigo passed, then inspected the digits of her left hand carefully. It all seemed normal, save for innumerable ink splotches that stained her pale skin a deep blue. Then she remember the notebook.

She left hand twinged as she seized the book from the coffee table, and she suddenly realized why. Every single page of the notebook was filled with writing. Apparently, she though, as she rubbed her exhausted fingers, this spirit was a lefty.

She didn't bother reading the dead person's writing immediately. Instead, she tugged a cell phone out of her robes, flipped it open, and dialed a number she knew by heart. Maya didn't know about this particular possession of Pearl's, and for good reason.

"I have something," Pearl said as soon as the ringing stopped. Then, without waiting for an answer, she hung up.

Now she had to wait. It would only take her friend a few minutes to get there, so Pearl decided to take the time to skim the information left behind by the ghost that had taken control of her body.

The writing was spiky and frantic, as though the visitor had tried to write as much as possible before Pearl repossessed her limbs. Even just by flipping through it, Pearl could tel that she had struck a goldmine of lies and scandal. Then she turned a page and caught a glimpse of a familiar name.

She froze. It couldn't be. That name . . .

There was a knock on the window. Pearl jumped, looking for a place to hide the notebook. She couldn't pass this specific information along, not about _that_ person, and certain not to the person crouched on the windowsill only feet away from her.

It was too late. The window opened and a woman floated gracefully into the room. She wore unusual clothes; but then again, so did Pearl, and so did the other part of their trio. It was almost their 'thing.'

"Pearl," she woman said, holding out a hand. "Let's see it."

Pearl gulped and tried to hide the notebook behind her back. "I was . . I was wrong, it's not actually something. They just wrote a lot and I didn't look at it before calling you and it turns out it's only an account of this guy's absolute love for the Pink Princess and how he wishes he could have met her before he . . ."

She stopped rambling. The woman had moved faster than lightning, faster than light itself, and snatched the notebook from the medium's hands. Pearl closed her eyes as the other woman flipped through it. She expected fury, but when she didn't get it, she slowly opened her eyes.

The woman was standing completely still, as though carved from ice. Her eyes were locked on a certain page in the notebook. Pearl would have bet they were locked on that name.

"Look, we can't always trust what these —"

The woman shut the book with a snap and turned to go.

"Wait!" Pearl called desperately.

She paused just before the window, her hand on the sill. "Our duty is to the truth, Pearl," she said, and her voice was colder and more steel-like than Pearl had ever heard. "We don't make exceptions for anyone. Not even him."

The wind blew into the room, throwing Pearl's hair into her face and obscuring her vision for a fraction of a moment. But when she had pushed the hair away, the woman was gone.

* * *

a.n.

So, there's one third of the Yatagarasu revealed.


	4. Chapter Two

**Missions**

_Everyone has their own mission. Sometimes they help each other, sometimes not. But when it comes to a certain prosecutor and a certain infamous thief, crossing paths is more dangerous than anyone ever anticipated._

a.n.

2. The Yatagarasu can disable any security system.

* * *

Chapter Two

Miles Edgeworth hated his job.

Well, not really. He enjoyed being a prosecutor — enjoyed the rush of adrenaline he felt when battling a defense attorney in court, enjoyed the feeling of complete and total satisfaction when the entire truth came to light because of his investigative abilities. There were many, many good things about the job. Or at least, there had been.

Until three years ago, Miles had been the prosecutor assigned to homicides. He had always been given the most exciting and intriguing cases to handle. Never once had he been forced to deal with civil law — no custody battles or contract breaches for him, thank you very much — or any other criminal offence such as larceny or assault. He spent most of his prosecuting career in the forefront of the action.

But then the Yatagarasu reappeared, and Edgeworth (as the most prolific and successful attorney in the office, as well as the one with the most foreknowledge of the Yatagarasu file) had been appointed to the Great Thief's case. He had spent three years chasing the elusive bird with not a single clue arrising to reveal its identity. The trail was always completely cold by the time he and Detective Gumshoe arrived on the scene, and the Second Yatagarasu was just as perfect in its execution as the first had been.

He slumped in his desk, staring vaguely at the cork board he had pinned to the wall of his office without really seeing it. The fiftieth 'truth' had been revealed four days ago, and he was nowhere closer to finding the culprit. He suspected that the Yatagarasu was still composed of three individuals, but he couldn't be certain. Whoever found out where the information was hidden did it perfectly. Whoever stole the information did it perfectly. And whoever covered their tracks did it perfectly.

He was loathe to suspect law-enforcement officials, but he really had no choice: no one but lawyers and police officers could do the Yatagarasu's job. But he had interviewed and interrogated and triple-checked every alibi and every story for every prosecutor, defense attorney, and police officer in the city. None of them were suspicious. None of them were lying.

And Miles hated it.

He got up from his desk and walked to his cork board. Details from every exposed 'truth' were pinned up there, from the first (which had to do with a paper company that made counterfeit bills and false passports as a side venture) to the fiftieth (which exposed the drug dealers working from within a local clinic). This new Yatagarasu had a different objective in mind than the first; understandable, since the smuggling ring the original Great Thief sought to destroy had been taken down years before — even so, the new cases were all connected by a certain factor: each one dealt with a person who had been killed to keep the secrets safe.

He stood motionless for what felt like hours, then, without breaking his gaze, pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.

"This is Wright."

"It's Edgeworth." His voice cracked slightly — he hadn't spoken to anyone for two days.

"I thought you'd call. The new case?"

"Yes."

On the other line, Phoenix Wright, Edgeworth's oldest friend-turned-rival-turned-friend-again, let out a long huff of air. "I've been doing as much digging as possible, Miles, but it's all totally solid. The Director of the clinic even asked me to defend him."

"Director Hotti?"

"Yes. I actually met him, finally."

"Is he anything like that disgusting man who posed as him?"

Miles heard the smile in his friend's voice. "Not at all."

"What did you tell him?"

"That both Apollo and I already had cases to deal with and we couldn't take his on." Miles shook his head ruefully. Wright was really too considerate, sometimes.

"Why didn't you just tell him the truth?"

"That I knew he was guilty and that I thought he should rot in jail for the rest of his natural life? I didn't feel it appropriate."

"I suppose you're right."

Neither of them spoke for some time. Miles was still staring at his cork board, and Wright, he knew, was waiting for him to speak. When he didn't, the defense attorney cleared his throat.

"Pearl's in town today."

"Is she." Miles didn't really care.

"She brought another letter from Maya."

"How nice."

"Maya has an idea about how the Yatagarasu finds the information."

Miles choked. "Tell me, quickly!" he hissed, gripping the phone tighter in his hand, making his knuckles hurt from the pressure. He heard the sound of rustling papers and knew that Wright was searching for the letter. "Now, Wright!"

"Relax, I'm just going to read it word-for-word." Wright cleared his throat and then began to read. As the words flowed from his lips through the phone and into Miles' ears, the prosecutor smiled. He could hear the spunky girl's voice even though it was the older man who spoke. " 'As for Edgeworth's problem, I have an idea. Since each case deals with dead people, do you think it's possible that the Yatagarasu is using a medium to find out the information they need? It's just a thought, but I personally don't know any other way to communicate with the dead, and I'm kind of an expert.' "

Edgeworth nearly dropped the phone in shock. It made sense. It made perfect, complete, total sense. He was actually annoyed that he himself hadn't thought of it, considering how often he spent time with the little channeler girl — what was her name? — Pearl.

"Edgeworth? Are you there?"

"Nnghoo." he choked.

"Oh, good." Wright seemed satisfied. "Listen, I have to go. Pearl should be done watching her shows soon, and then Trucy will come over, so I have to make dinner. Call me if something urgent comes up, alright?"

Miles nodded, realized that Wright couldn't see him over the phone, and said: "Fine." They both hung up at approximately the same time, and Miles began to pace.

If Maya Fey was right — and it seemed very likely that she was, since the idea of a spirit medium fit snugly into the puzzle in his mind — then that raised some very serious questions. Did the Yatagarasu simply hire a channeler? That didn't seem likely. However, if the medium was one of the three members of the Yatagarasu, that meant it would have to be someone related to the Feys, and it was difficult to accuse any of those charming women of wrongdoing.

Then again, he mused, his eyes resting on an arbitrary piece of paper tacked to his cork board, hadn't a Fey woman been sent to jail for accessory to murder? Had a Fey woman not, in fact, helped someone frame the very woman who was now the Master of the Kurain Channeling Tradition?

Was that woman not Morgan Fey?

And Morgan Fey had four daughters. Valerie Hawthorne had been murdered by her sister, Dahlia, who had, in turn, been executed on Death Row. Dahlia had a twin sister, Iris, who had only recently been released from prison. But it was impossible to accuse Iris of being part of the Yatagarasu: her sentence had ended two months ago, while the Yatagarasu had been working for three years. And the fourth daughter . . .

Pearl Fey.

One of Phoenix Wright's closest friends. Who came to the city about once a week. Who he, Miles Edgeworth, had enjoyed dinner with on numerous occasions for the past . . . how long? Three years?

He gasped and almost fell over. The truth had been in front of him the entire time. Pearl Fey was one third of the Second Yatagarasu. The medium had been channeling spirits to find the truth. Did that mean she stole the information, too? But no, he thought, frowning. As talented as she was, Pearl didn't have the skills that the Great Thief needed.

"I'm disappointed in you, Miles Edgeworth."

He spun around. There was a woman reclining on his couch; a beautiful woman with long, silky dark hair that was held up by an unusual hair stick in the shape of a golden key.

"Kay?" He stared, incredulous. He hadn't seen the girl for quite some time — years, in fact — and she seemed more than just older. She seemed . . . darker. Perhaps more subdued. Her sea-green eyes no longer sparkled with an inner mischief; instead, they burned with an internal secret that Miles didn't think he wanted to know. She was taller, longer, her body far more womanly that it had been when he had met her the first time at seventeen (well, the second time, but he didn't feel like overcomplicating things). Her clothes were as strange as ever, but they weren't as bright, now: dark blue instead of red, purple instead of pink. Her boots were the same, her gloves were the same, the scarf with the golden three-legged raven pin: the same. and her skirt was as short as ever, which, for some reason, made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

"It's been a long time." She got to her feet and her unusual clothes stood out against the stark white walls of his office. He swallowed.

"How did you get in here?"

She didn't answer, opting instead to brush gently by him and look at his cork board. He smelled the scent of her perfume, a delicate flowery scent that he had smelled somewhere before. She reached out and traced the word 'Yatagarasu' on the heading of the nearest newspaper clipping with one slim finger.

"So, you're the prosecutor assigned to chase after me," she giggled lightly. "I thought it must be you."

He sighed, frustrated, and ran a hand through his hair. After all these years, she was still insisting that she was the Great Thief? "You're not the Yatagarasu, Kay." he snapped, a little more angrily than he'd intended. But he couldn't help it: he finally got to see her again, after nearly five years without hearing a word from her, and she wasn't even excited? After everything they'd gone through together? After years of her being his assistant?

She whirled around, her eyes glinting with ire. "You still don't believe me?"

He wagged his finger at her, trying to appear calmer than he felt. "Of course not." He shrugged and shook his head, smirking. "If you were, I would have caught you by now."

Her face hardened, and he could see real fury written on her delicate features. Then she reached into her pocket and slapped something into his hand. He looked down at his fingers and his stomach dropped out of his body, landing somewhere near the centre of the earth.

A heavy silver coin with a black raven stamped into it rested in his palm.

"You — "

"I _am_ the Yatagarasu, Miles Edgeworth." she said, coldly. "You'd do best not to forget it."

He looked up at her, a strange mixture of fear, worry, anger, and fear twisting his insides into knots.

"Then I know who you are. And what's to stop me from arresting you?" He mad meant for it to sound like a threat, but it came out more like a desperate plea.

She laughed, tossing her head back. The laugh sent a chill up his spine; it sounded so familiar, and not in a good way.

"You may know who I am, Edgeworth," she smirked, holding up a fist. "But you'll never find out where I am."

He opened his mouth to respond scathingly, then closed it again and looked down at the coin in his hand. It was undoubtedly on of the coins the Yatagarasu sent to Lotta Hart along with new information.

"Why are you here, Kay?"

There was no answer. He raised his head and looked around his office in horror.

She had vanished as quickly and silently as she had arrived, leaving no trace behind her. He ran to the window, thinking he might be able to catch a glimpse of her, but it was locked tight.

As was his door.

He sat down on the couch she had just vacated and held his head in his hands. His whole body was shaking; he didn't know why. Where had she gone? How had she managed to just . . . disappear?

And why had she come?

He raised his head and looked around the office. What had she said? 'I'm disappointed in you.' Why had she said that? What did that mean? How had he disappointed her? What could he have done to earn the disapproval of the Great Thief Yatagarasu, whose only target was the truth —

He jumped to his feet, panic filling his body with what felt like electrified lead. His eyes scanned the bookshelf opposite him, desperately seeking a particular file. He ran to it, nearly tripping over the thick shag carpet that Detective Gumshoe's dog, Missile, often enjoy rolling on. He ripped the folder out of the shelf and tore through the pages, flipping faster and more urgently than he had ever turned pages before. The file he was looking for was just past the middle of the book, just about . . . here.

He stared, his heart thumping wildly and bile rising in his throat. The file was gone.

..m.i.s.s.i.o.n.s..

Phoenix Wright checked the caller ID out of force of habit when the Steel Samurai theme song rang through his kitchen. The name 'Miles Edgeworth', accompanied by a goofy-looking picture of Miles wearing a Steel Samurai cravat, flashed on the tiny LCD screen. He pressed the talk button and brought it to his ear, carefully stirring the pot of spaghetti boiling on the stove as he did so.

"What's up?"

"It really is an emergency, Phoenix!"

Phoenix froze in shock. It _must_ be an emergency, he thought, his eyes widening, if Miles is calling me by my first name.

"What happened?"

"The Yatagarasu . . . she . . . she stole it."

"Stole what?" He had stopped stirring and was staring vaguely into space, listening as hard as he could.

"The file."

Phoenix's felt his stomach clench, as though someone in a Steel Samurai costume had just grabbed his intestines and squeezed.

"_The_ file?"

"Yes."

Phoenix dropped his cell phone. It landed with a clatter on the kitchen tiles and the battery popped cheerfully out of its casing. His whole body was going cold, fear for his friend racing through every vein and turning his blood to ice.

The spaghetti stuck to the bottom of the pot and started to burn.

* * *

a.n.

And the second third, but that one was obvious, wasn't it?  
Don't worry. She might seem like an angsty-Kay, but she's just pissed. She's not as serious as I've made her out to be.


	5. Chapter Three

**Missions**

_Everyone has their own mission. Sometimes they help each other, sometimes not. But when it comes to a certain prosecutor and a certain infamous thief, crossing paths is more dangerous than anyone ever anticipated._

a.n.

3. The Yatagarasu never leaves any evidence behind.

* * *

Chapter Three

"Read pages 450 to 470, and write a response to the case study on page 470 with specific attention to ethics and morality, to be handed in before the start of the next seminar period. Class is dismissed."

Twenty-five young adults got to their feet, packing up their books and chatting amicably with each other. At the front of the room, the professor was organizing her own papers and tying a crimson scarf around her neck. In the second row, one girl turned to another.

"Are you coming?"

The other girl shook her head, fiddling with her own red scarf and tying her brown hair into a long ponytail. "I need a word with the professor," she said, smiling mischievously at her friend. The other girl raised an eyebrow, then smirked and shook her head.

"You're a piece of work, Wright."

She grinned back and waved as her friend disappeared. Then she skipped lightly to the front of the room and cleared her throat. The professor looked up from the notes she was writing in her personal planner. When she caught sight of the student before her, she rolled her eyes.

"What is it this time, Miss Wright?"

"Professor Skye, I was wondering how exactly I could improve on my last essay."

The professor looked incredulous. "I gave you a ninety-seven on your last essay."

The student smiled politely. "Yes, I know," she acknowledged cheerfully. "But that's still three percent below perfect."

The professor rolled her eyes again. "Trucy Wright, you are the only person I know, except for that annoying, whip-happy blonde, who's unhappy with a ninety-eight average in an Ethics and Morality in Law class." Trucy smiled, but a crease appeared between her eyebrows. Who on earth was the 'annoying, whip-happy blonde'? "You're worse than your father — no, you're worse than my sister!"

Trucy grinned. "Well, your sister is the most respected Detective in the city, so that's nothing to really be ashamed of."

Lana Skye laughed lightly and pointed at the door. "Out, Wright." she commanded, her medals clinking together. "Go do something fun."

"Yes, ma'am!" Trucy saluted formally and sauntered out of the room. Lana shook her head, smiling ruefully. The Wright girl really was a handful; a girl after Lana's own heart.

Still smiling, Professor Lana Skye sat down in her desk — after an hour and a half of lecturing on her feet, her legs got really quite sore — and began to write a letter of condemnation for one of her former students.

_Dear Mr. Richards,_

_Thank you for contacting me about your decision to hire James Shorts. Unfortunately, I do not believe he will be an asset to your legal team. In the three years it took him to pass my class, he never once . . ._

Her smile grew. There was nothing quite like being honest.

..m.i.s.s.i.o.n.s..

Trucy loved taking public transit to and from her Dad's place. While she herself lived less than a five-minute walk away from the Ivy University campus, her father lived way on the other side of the city. She could drive, of course, but buying a yearly bus pass was far less expensive than continually paying for gas. And besides, on a bus you never got stuck in traffic, and you could play the most wonderful tricks on the other passengers.

At the moment, she was using ventriloquism (a skill she had been taught by an old friend of her father's name Trilo) to agitate the frustrated young man sitting across and two seats down from her. She knew him from school — he sat three rows behind her in her Legal Systems of the World class. Easton West, she thought his name was. He was a bit of a jerk, always insulting the less-than-perfect-looking people in class, so she often used the bus ride to the Justice and Wright Law Offices to pay him back.

"Dude," she muttered, sending her voice as close to him as possible. "You have a stain on your sweater. That's so gross." His eyes went wide and he looked down at the front of his shirt, pulling it away from himself to search for the offending mark. "Naw, man, it's on the back. What the heck did you lean on?" He tugged out of the sweater and held it front of him, looking anxiously for the spot. "Do you see it? It's totally right there." He stared harder, his eyes actually crossing. "Oh, wait. Oops. It's actually on your face." The sweater fell to the ground as he hands jerked to his cheeks, touching and feeling his skin. "Look up." As he did so, she whipped a can of violently pink spray paint out of her pocket and sprayed him full in the chest. He screamed and looked around, but she had already disappeared, slipping out of her seat and into another one further back. She heard him swearing as she settled beside a peaceful-looking old woman who was fast asleep and mumbling something about edgy poo. Trucy snorted — dreams were funny things — and settled herself deeper into the seat. The gentle conversations floated around her and pretty soon she had let the motion of the bus lull her into a doze.

She snapped out of it roughly half an hour later, where there was no one but herself and a few die-hard Steel Samurai fans who seemed to be planning to break into Global Studios left on the bus. She had awoken to the sound of their bickering and the feeling of whiplash as the bus made a sudden, jerky stop.

"Sorry, Trucy!" The driver yelled apologetically at her. "I almost missed your stop!"

She laughed and got to her feet, half-dragging her bag behind her so that it made a _thump thump thump_ sound as it hit the seats she passed. "It's not a problem, Mr. Pher," she told the driver earnestly. "Even if you had, it would have been a nice walk. It's a beautiful November day, after all."

The Asian man shook his head, sighing. "You're unbelievable, girl," he snorted. "It's pouring out there!" He was right, of course; the rain had started sometime during the ride and was now pelting the earth with a vengeance. "And how many times have I told you to call me Sho?"

She smiled angelically at him and bade him goodbye as she danced into the rain, across the pavement, and into the lobby of her old building. She stood by the door and waved until he drove away, then she unlocked the door with the key she still carried with her and hopped up five floors.

The moment she pushed open the door to her father's apartment/office/talent agency, she knew that something was amiss. Her father was swearing as loudly as Easton West had been on the bus and she smelled something burning. She rushed in, afraid that something terrible had happened, to see her tall, stately father dancing around the kitchen in frustration as he tried to simultaneously stir a pot on the counter and put the battery back into his cell phone. Laughing, she stepped forward and took the cell phone from oven-mitted hands, leaving him to deal only with the spaghetti.

Once the 37-volt battery was tucked safely back into its slot and the mostly-ruined pasta was floating in the boiling water again, Trucy hugged her father.

"You okay, Dad?" she asked, taking a step back and absorbing his harried expression.

"Not particularly, no," he said, mournfully, staring at the pot as though it were a coffin bearing the remains of his best friend. "I was trying to make dinner for you and Pearl but then Miles called and I dropped my phone and now supper's burnt and I accidentally poured boiling water onto my feet so my toes are sore and everything's just a mess." He looked close to tears.

"Oh, Daddy," she sighed, pulling him bag into her arms. "It'll be okay. Your cell phone is fixed, we'll go out for supper, and you can put ice on your toes right away." He nodded and moved to the freezer, tugging out a bag of frozen peas and dropping them on his burned foot. Trucy turned the stove off and carefully shifted the pot to a cold element to let it cool down. "You said Pearl's here?" she asked, turning to tackle the mess of dishes that her father had left on the counter.

"Yes, she should be done watching whatever she needs to watch soon."

Trucy nodded but didn't speak. She filled the sink with water and soap and began washing the cups, plates, and silverware that were obviously left over from Phoenix's breakfast and lunch.

"Why did you drop your phone?" she asked, once all the dishes had been wiped clean and left on the rack to dry.

Phoenix opened the freezer again and tossed the peas back into it, pulling out a back of frozen corn instead. "Well, Edgeworth's had a bit of a bad day. As a mater of fact, we should be going over there right now, but I thought you might want supper first."

Alarm bells went off, jangling loudly in Trucy's head. "Why, what happened?" she questioned, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Apparently, the Yatagarasu stole something from his office. He's kind of shaken up by it."

"What was stolen?" Stay calm, Trucy, she told herself.

"A file. A really important file." Phoenix sighed and lifted the corn off his toes, poking them gingerly. He smiled and put the corn back into the freezer; obviously, his foot felt better now. "And the weird thing is, he seemed to know who the Yatagarasu was."

Her heart started thumping wildly, impossibly fast. It filled her ears so that she could barely hear herself ask: "What makes you say that?"

Phoenix shrugged, picking up a plate from the rack and drying it with the dish towel he'd grabbed from the bar on the oven.

"He said 'she'."

Trucy nearly fainted. "What do you mean?"

"When he said the Yatagarasu stole one of his files, he said that 'she' stole it. Like he knew who it was, or caught her in the act, or something."

They stood in silence for a moment, Trucy hardly daring to breathe while her father dried the dishes and put them away on their respective shelves. Then Trucy thought of something: something that made a frown inch its way on to her normally pleasant features.

"What sort of file did Edgeworth have that the _Yatagarasu_ would have wanted? The Great Thief only steals information about corruption."

Phoenix shrugged again, but he didn't meet her eyes. "I have no idea." Trucy glared at him, sharply. Her skin was tingling slightly, and she searched for the tell-tale sign that he was lying to her. Then she saw it; the heel of his left foot was suddenly bouncing up and down.

"Dad, you're lying to me." Trucy stated, stung. "You _do_ know what that file is about!"

Phoenix opened his mouth to speak — probably to vehemently deny any such thing — but the door to Trucy's old room opened and Pearl came breezing into the kitchen.

Trucy smiled when she saw her. She had met Pearl three years before, during a rather disastrous New Year's Eve party that brought all of her father's oldest friends together for the first time in almost seven years. Unfortunately, Pearl's cousin, Maya (whom Phoenix was obviously in love with) hadn't been able to make it, but Pearl had been there. And while Phoenix, Mr. Edgeworth, Professor Skye, a man named Larry, a woman named Adrian, a man who looked like a lion, another man who looked like a wolf, and several other dubious individuals sat around the table, drinking and laughing about the good old days, Trucy and Apollo had played board games with Pearl and another girl named Kay. They had played for a solid five hours before Apollo headed back to his apartment to get a good night's rest before his case the following morning, and then the three girls had started chatting. They shared all their secrets, and at the end of the night, they had become linked beyond anything they'd ever felt before.

More than friends; sisters. More than sisters . . . Partners.

Pearl grinned back at her.

"Hey Trucy!" she sang, grabbing her friend and hugging her tightly. "How's school?"

"Great!" Trucy responded. They didn't really need the small-talk, but it didn't feel right without it. "I have a ninety-eight in Ethics."

"Excellent!" Then Pearl caught sight of Phoenix's face. "What's wrong with you, Nick? You look like someone's died."

Phoenix gestured at the stove hurriedly. "We're going out for dinner tonight, if that's okay."

Trucy shot Pearl a meaningful look, which the medium translated at once. "Actually, I was hoping to go to the mall. There are some things I need to pick up. Can we go out for breakfast tomorrow?"

Phoenix looked relieved. "That's totally fine. Trucy and I have to go over to Edgeworth's anyway."

Pearl plastered an unconvincing look of surprise on her face, but it fooled Phoenix. "Oh? How _is_ Mr. Edgeworth?"

"He's . . . alright."

The knowing look that passed through Pearl's eyes told Trucy that the Fey woman knew exactly what had been stolen from Mr. Edgeworth. And why.

"Well, that's good! I'll see you guys later on!" As Pearl booked it from the apartment, Trucy turned to her father.

"Let's just go now, Dad. We can eat later."

The feeling of relief on Phoenix's face intensified, and he grabbed his coat.

..m.i.s.s.i.o.n.s..

Mr. Edgeworth was sitting stock-still, staring straight ahead, when Trucy and Phoenix arrived at his office. For a moment, Trucy thought he was dead; he didn't appear to be breathing. But as soon as they stepped through the door he blinked and shifted in his seat.

"I'm glad you two came. Detective Gumshoe has been delayed; he'll be here later."

Phoenix nodded and went to sit in the chair on the other side of Edgeworth's desk.

"Miles . . ." he began, and the two men suddenly broke into frantic conversation.

Trucy ignored them, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and wandering around the room. All seemed as it was supposed to be, but Trucy knew better than to assume. It was her job to investigate situations like this. She was good at it.

She got down on her hands and knees and checked under the couch. There was nothing there — not eve dust, which just showed that Detective Gumshoe had been secretly cleaning the office again while Edgeworth was out — but as she pushed herself up, she noticed a strand of brown hair caught between the cushions of the couch. She glanced casually over her shoulder at the two men, checking to see if they were watching her. They weren't, so she carefully reached out, lifted the hair, and stowed it safely away in her pocket.

Next, she moved to the bookshelf, from where the file had been stolen. None of the files seemed disturbed except for one: it seemed that Edgeworth had been careless when he replaced the folder that had contained the incriminating information. She slid the folder slowly and gently out of the shelf, careful not to disturb anything else. She flipped through the pages until the found the empty plastic page protectors. She examined them carefully for any signs of the person who had stolen the file.

She found one; what seemed to be a glove print was clearly visible in the slight coating of dust on the plastic sheet. Trucy rummaged in her pocket before pulling out one of her favourite items for magic-making: a silk scarf. She wiped the dust softly away, taking great pains not to leave any of her own marks on the plastic. Then she shut the folder and slid it back into the shelf.

"Did you find anything, Trucy?" Phoenix called from his seat.

She turned towards him, her floaty skirt spinning around her. "Nothing," she grimaced. "They didn't leave any prints or anything."

"Of course she didn't." Edgeworth muttered distractedly. "She's the best. The very best." He held his head in his hands. His silvery hair seemed almost limp from the strain. "All she left was this." He held up a coin, and Trucy's heart thudded uncomfortably in her chest. What had Kay been thinking, leaving the Yatagarasu's coin there?

She stepped towards the desk and held out her hand. "Can I see that?" she asked. Edgeworth dumped it unceremoniously into her palm, and she stared at it as Phoenix started the conversation again.

"So, you know who the Yatagarasu is, Miles?"

"Yes. I know her."

"Then you should arrest her!"

Miles laughed bitterly. "It wouldn't do any good. She was right; I have no idea where she is. If I knew where she was, it would have been such a long time since I last saw her . . . it wouldn't have had to be like this . . ." He sighed, sounding distraught.

"Tell me, Miles."

"No."

"Miles!" Phoenix sounded angry now. "Tell me!"

"No! I won't!" Under cover of their argument, Trucy slipped the coin into her pocket to join the hair dusty scarf.

"Miles, you're being ridiculous! Just tell me!"

"I won't betray her like that!"

"She means that much to you?"

"Yes, she does!"

"She's already betrayed you, Edgeworth! She's stolen from you! That's _illegal_."

"No," Edgeworth's voice was suddenly quiet again, depressed. "I betrayed her, first. I didn't tell her about this, about the file. She'll hate me now. She'll never want to see me again."

Phoenix shook his head and got angrily to his feet. "We're leaving, Edgeworth. And we won't be back until you've decided to do the right thing."

He stormed from the room, dragging Trucy behind him. She nearly fell over, trying to keep up with her father's pace.

"Who do you think he's trying to protect?"

Phoenix sighed as he punched the down button on the elevator. "I have no idea, Trucy. But I'm going to find out. And then she'll go to jail."

Trucy said nothing as they boarded the elevator and let the falling box bring them to the lobby again, but she squeezed her hand around the evidence in her pocket. Kay wouldn't be going to jail. None of them would.

Not if Trucy could help it.

* * *

a.n.

And the final third is revealed. Did anybody see that one coming? Anyone?  
I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen now, but we'll just see where the story takes me.


	6. Chapter Four

**Missions**

_Everyone has their own mission. Sometimes they help each other, sometimes not. But when it comes to a certain prosecutor and a certain infamous thief, crossing paths is more dangerous than anyone ever anticipated._

a.n.

It's been almost two years since this was updated, but here I am.

* * *

Chapter Four

They went out for burgers. It was something they rarely did, but Phoenix always needed a burger when he was stressed or upset. So on the night of November 18th, Phoenix parked his rickety Dodge Challenger (received as payment from a client two years before, which had forced Phoenix and Trucy to both get their driver's licence) in the spot closest to the entrance of Burger Palace and pushed his way through the heavy glass door, his daughter following him with a worried expression on her face.

The teenager behind the counter looked surprised to see them there and took their order cautiously, waiting until Phoenix had sat down at their normal table before speaking to Trucy, who had yet to order.

"Your dad's not feeling well, I guess?" he asked, punching in her order before she spoke. Despite how little they visited the restaurant, this particular cashier always remembered them. Perhaps it was because he had a phenomenal memory — or perhaps it was due to the fact that both she and her father were creatures of habit, and rarely changed their order anywhere once they found one they really liked, a trait that annoyed both Pearl and Apollo whenever they went out to dinner as a group.

"Things are a little rough right now," she admitted, passing the twenty-dollar bill her father had pushed into her hands moments before over the counter to pay for their twelve-dollar meal. The cashier smiled grimly as he handed her the change.

"I could tell," he stated simply, watching her carefully. "You guys are never in here unless something's up."

Trucy leaned against the counter to wait while the cashier prepared their order, picking up the burgers from the warming tray behind him, filling plasticized paper cups full of soda (Sprite for her, Root Beer for Phoenix), and making sure their fries were fresh and piping hot.

"You're pretty observant, aren't you?" she asked as he arranged the food just _so_ on the tray and took a step back, admiring his work with satisfaction. "You have a good memory, I mean," she amended when she noticed the hesitant look on his face, as though he were unsure whether or not he should be offended.

He shrugged casually, as though it were no big deal, but she could tell he was secretly pleased that she had noticed. "I'm a musician," he explained. "Memory is kind of my thing."

"Oh?" She tilted her head to the side, interested. "What do you play?"

"Violin." He said it slightly defensively, as though used to criticism over his choice of instrument. But Trucy was impressed.

"I've heard that the violin is one of the most difficult instruments to play." she commented, hoping to wipe the protective layer from his features and make him smile again. It worked; he beamed with pleasure.

"It is. But I really enjoy it."

She smiled back at him and picked up the tray. "That's all that really matters." She started to head to the table where her father sat, waiting, then turned back. "I'll see you at the next crisis..." She craned her neck to see his name tag. "Jeff." She caught a glimpse of his grin before she headed back to her table, and it produced a grin of her own... at least until she sat down across from her father and saw the expression of mixed despair and fury blanketing his normally-austere features. Avoiding his eyes, Trucy picked at her fries until they got cold, her stomach strangely opposed to the idea of ingesting anything while Phoenix glowered at his cup of soda as though it had done him a personal wrong. Unable to bear the tension any longer, Trucy stood up. The chair scraped with agonizing volume against the gritty tile floor and everyone in the restaurant winced at the sound, but Trucy ignored it.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she announced loudly, glaring at her father. He gave no sign that he'd heard her, but the patrons at a table nearby gave little gasps of shock at her pronouncement. As she passed them, she 'accidentally' nudged against the purse of the primmest-looking socialite and apologized profusely, hiding the small tube of lipstick she'd lifted in her sleeve until she was safely in a surprisingly clean restroom stall. It was an expensive brand – one that she herself had never been and probably would never be able to afford – and so she took a sick sort of delight in dropping it into the toilet with a satisfying splash.

She might write a good essay, but Trucy held fast to the ethics she'd learned as a child. Phoenix would have been proud.

He would not, however, been proud of what she did next.

The lipstick now bobbing in the cool, clean water was joined by the long brown hair and the heavy silver coin from her pocket. She knelt in front of the toilet and carefully shook the dust from her scarf into the bowl as well, wiping it down until no trace of dust remained on the silk. Just as she was getting to her feet and stowing the scarf in its usual place (her sleeve: the better to use for a magic trick, my dear), her cell phone vibrated once and let out a little tinkling chime, letting her know she'd received a text message. She dug the tiny machine from her pocket and opened the message, sighing impatiently as the ancient phone took its sweet time following her instructions.

The number was blocked, and the message was short and to the point: **_?_**

Trucy smiled slightly and flushed the toilet, watching the items in it swirl around and around and around until they were whisked out of sight by the swift current. Then she texted back: **_!_**

The bathroom was just as empty as she left as it had been when she entered, so she didn't bother washing her hands, opting instead to text Pearl while her phone was out, on, and working (which was a rare occurrence): **_Have a good time at the mall?_**

The response came just as she sat back down across from her father, whose eyebrow jumped up as she checked the message.

"Apollo?" he asked – a reasonable assumption, to be sure, since the young defense attorney was practically the only person Trucy ever bothered to text – while Trucy read the message.

"No..." she said slowly, her lips moving while her mind was otherwise occupied. "Pearl. Apparently there was a sale at that new-age crystal store and she bought a whole box of... magatamas?" She handed the phone over to Phoenix, having intentionally mispronounced the word. He squinted slightly at the small screen, then nodded.

"Useful things," he commented idly, returning his attention to the half-eaten burger in front of him. Trucy stared at him as he ate, her own food lying completely forgotten. His ire seemed to have abated and he chewed with an air of unhurried enjoyment that was completely belied by the bouncing of his left heel. She stared, he ate, and the stalemate went unbroken for several long, increasingly tense minutes until Trucy snapped.

"So this is how we're playing it?" she demanded, slamming a hand on the table and startling the debutante from whom Trucy had stolen the lipstick. Phoenix's eyebrow hopped up his forehead again and he stopped chewing with his mouth full of burger, looking deliberately surprised by her outburst. Trucy leaned forward and lowered her voice to a hiss. "Edgeworth's a mess, the Yatagarasu has information on him that will _definitely_ be leaked to the press, you were a raging ball of stress and frustration until five minutes ago, and now we're going to pretend like nothing's wrong?"

Phoenix's expression slowly settled and then froze in a mask of perfect calm as he finished chewing, swallowed, lifted his soda to his lips, took a long sip, and then replaced the cup; all done with excruciating care and with prolonged, precise motions. Trucy wanted to be angry with him, but her own frustration refused to hold against his composure. She felt herself gradually deflating and nodded, understanding his silent message. This wasn't a conversation to have in public. It wasn't even a conversation to have when Pearl was around. It would have to wait.

Placated for the moment, Trucy turned her attention to her food, but her stomach was still refusing to co-operate. Sighing heavily, she made to stand up again but was stopped by the sudden and rather shocking appearance of a brown paper bag in her face. She spluttered and jerked back, nearly falling out of her chair, but Jeff grabbed her arm and steadied her.

"Sorry," he said, chagrined, as Phoenix laughed heartily from across the table. "I didn't mean to scare you." He held out the bag, biting his lip. "I brought you this."

Trucy looked from the bag to the young man's face, confused but impressed. "I was just coming to get one of these from you. How did you know?"

Jeff shrugged, looking pleased with himself but obviously trying not to show it. "Like you said earlier, I guess. I'm pretty observant."

Trucy took the bag and opened it, pushing her hand into the bottom to make it pop into shape. "You most certainly are. Thank you." Jeff blushed, his face turning an interesting shade of red at the earnest tone of her gratitude. He waved awkwardly as though to say 'it was nothing' and stood there for a moment, watching her pack up her untouched meal, then seemed to regain control of himself and zoomed back to the counter to take an order. When father and daughter left a few minutes later, Jeff permitted himself to watch them return to their car, only to be caught by Trucy, who waved cheerfully as he blushed again and nearly dropped the handful of change he was counting.

"That boy has a crush on you," Phoenix remarked as he started the car – the first words he'd spoken since his daughter's return from the bathroom. He glanced at her to find a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

"Who doesn't?" she asked, buckling her seatbelt.

..m.i.s.s.i.o.n.s..

The kitchen light was still on when Trucy returned to her apartment; she had seen it from the street when Phoenix dropped her off. Knowing what it meant, Trucy was glad she'd never gotten around to eating her burger that evening (though she and Pearl had polished off the fries during a game of Monopoly that had ended with a disgruntled Phoenix flicking his daughter's game-piece off the board and announcing "Time for ice cream!") as she trudged up the stairs and unlocked the door to the fifth floor. The hallway light flickered obnoxiously as Trucy approached 5C, and she made a mental note to mention it to the landlord at the weekly fifth-floor tenant's meeting on the weekend.

She unlocked the door to her apartment and was surprised to hear that the squeak of old hinges that usually accompanied the door's opening was absent. The landlord must have come by to fix it after she had mentioned the problem at the previous week's tenant's meeting. Mentioned on Saturday, fixed on Tuesday; Trucy smiled to herself. She really had lucked out on this living arrangement.

Speaking of which... She kicked off her shoes and padded into the kitchen, where her roommate sat staring at a large stack of books, looking miserable.

"You're up late," she commented, moving to the oven and turning the broiler on high. The only response she received was a low groan, to which she nodded sagely as she pulled the cardboard box containing her left-over burger from the paper bag. "I hear ya," she agreed, taking a roll of aluminum foil from a drawer, ripping off a sheet, and transferring the burger from the box to the thin metal material, wrapping it up with care and sliding it into the oven. Her roommate groaned again and she finally turned to face him, tossing the bag and box into the recycling bin under the sink as she did so. "You okay?" Her voice was laced with pity.

"It's this case," Apollo grumbled, running his hands through his hair for what must have been the thousandth time that night, judging by the extreme disarray of the normally-gelled brown locks. Trucy pulled out the chair closest to her and sank into it, pulling one of the books toward her.

"Hm... '_A Compendium of Unusual Restitution Cases and Their Decisions, 1600-2020'_?" Apollo shook his head and pointed at the words beneath the title she'd just read. " '_Volume 1'_? How many volumes are there?"

Trucy had never heard her brother sound more miserable than he did when he said: "Eight."

"Oh, Polly." Trucy stood and circled the table, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. Apollo sank into her embrace and pressed his face into her arm.

"I'm exhausted, Truce," he moaned, his voice muffled. "This case is killing me. My client wants me to argue on the basis of some ancient familial laws that apparently his family have been maintaining for centuries so that he doesn't have to pay his restitution in monetary value, but he trespassed and caused damage to the claimant's personal property, so I can't even argue that the defendant's laws exist on his own property." He pulled away from the hug and looked up at Trucy. "I should never have switched to civil law. It's the worst."

Chuckling, Trucy patted her brother's head and grabbed a plate from a cupboard. "How does he want to pay?" she asked, slipping an oven mitt over her left hand and reaching into the oven to pull out the foil-wrapped burger. When she unwrapped it, the bun was warm and crisp, the delicious smell of seasoned beef and pickles wafting up to her as she set it on the plate.

"With jewelry." Apollo accepted the plate with a nod of thanks when Trucy offered it. "He's a pretty accomplished jeweler and his work is excellent, but the claimant is refusing." He took a bite of the burger and spoke with his mouth full. "To be honest, I think the claimant's just being an a–" His words broke off into a moan of pleasure and he looked at Trucy with an expression of adoration. "This is delicious." He took another bite and chewed slowly, obviously savouring the taste. "How did you know I didn't have dinner tonight?"

Trucy sat back in her chair and snagged a fallen pickle from the plate. "Because you're my brother and you're an idiot." He glared, but the intensity of it was undermined slightly by his bulging cheeks. "Have you tried for a settlement?"

Apollo nodded, swallowing with difficulty in order to speak. "Nothing doing. Both clients are refusing to move an inch. The claimant wants money, and Jasper Stone wants to uphold his family's traditional laws. Neither is willing to even _say_ the word 'compromise'. It's a nightmare." He finished the burger with a satisfied grin, smacking his lips. "But enough about me. Why are you home so late? It's almost one in the morning."

Trucy frowned, fingering the delicate embossed lettering on the book nearest her. "Didn't you get my text? Pearl's in town." Frowning, Apollo grabbed his phone from the table beside him and looked at the screen.

"Oops. Guess it was on silent." He looked up at his sister and frowned, absently fingering the gold bracelet on his left wrist. "You okay? You're biting the inside of your cheek. Unsure about something?"

Trucy covered her mouth and gave him a half-hearted scowl. "H-hey," she admonished, without much rancour. "We promised not to do that to each other."

Apollo shook his head, eyes locked on hers. "I never signed that contract." He leaned forward, not noticing that his elbow landed on the plate. "Spill before I cross-examine you, kiddo."

Trucy needed no further urging. She had never intended to keep that night's events from him anyway, even if he hadn't noticed her stress. She and Apollo had no secrets. Ever since they had learned of their shared parentage just over five years before – they had celebrated their five-year sibling anniversary on November 1st, in reference to the day in 2026 when Phoenix had finally told them who they were – neither had kept anything from the other. Trucy knew about Apollo's time in orphanages and foster care; Apollo knew about Trucy's life before becoming a Wright. Trucy knew about the girl who had broken Apollo's heart in high school; Apollo knew about the times Trucy used her skills as a budding magician to sneak out of the house to go to parties.

Trucy knew that Apollo had switched to civil law because he'd completely lost faith in the legal system; Apollo knew that Trucy was one-third of the Second Yatagarasu.

So she told him. By the time she had finished, the clock above the kitchen sink said 2:30, and Apollo was halfway through his third beer. He'd grabbed one for himself and one for Trucy when she had dropped her first bombshell on him, and now there were five bottles filling the spaces on the table that were left by the books, and one in Apollo's hand.

"This is bad," he said. Trucy snorted.

"A bit, yeah."

"So Edgeworth has some sort of corruption in his past? And Phoenix knows about it?"

Trucy snatched the beer from Apollo's hand and took a long swig before passing it back. She didn't often drink underage, but tonight was one of those nights when law didn't exist in the sanctity of her home – much like Jasper Stone, she thought glumly. "Apparently."

"And Kay showed herself to Edgeworth, who now knows she's the Yatagarasu and probably suspects that there are two others working with her." Apollo's eyes were heavy with exhaustion but wide with anxiety.

"Yep."

"Pearl needs to get out of town," Apollo said quickly, picking up his cell phone as though he intended to call her. "She needs to lay low for a while, maybe go to Hazakura, let Edgeworth's suspicion die down. She can work from there, right?"

Trucy put her hand over her brother's and pressed his hand back to the table. "She will, but we promised Dad we'd go out for breakfast tomorrow morning. You should come," she added brightly, eyes glinting mischievously. "I'm sure Pearl would _love_ to see you."

He threw a bottle cap at her.

"Shut it, you meddling fiend. We're on your problems right now, not my love life."

But he did agree to join them for breakfast, and soon the siblings were heading into their bedrooms – leaving the kitchen in its messy state for Trucy to clean in the afternoon. Despite the enormity of the events unfolding around them, both Grammarye children managed to fall asleep almost instantly, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

..m.i.s.s.i.o.n.s..

At 6:00 a.m. on Wednesday, November 19th, Phoenix Wright and Pearl Fey were awoken by a loud, insistent knocking on the door to Wright's office/apartment. Phoenix, not a morning person by nature, grumbled and growled his way to the door while Pearl poked her head in from the guest room, curious.

"Who would be at the door this early?" she asked as Phoenix dragged his feet sluggishly over the carpet.

"No idea." He pulled open the door and barked "What do you want?" before he'd even seen who stood on the other side. When his eyes adjusted to the light of day and to the sight before him, they widened in shocked confusion. "Wait. What's going on...?"

The hulking man in the doorway looked distraught as he held out a folded piece of paper to the attorney, his green trench coat waving with the motion. Phoenix took it, looking for some sort of answer in the visitor's eyes as he unfolded the document. He read it slowly, obviously not believing what his eyes and mind were clearly telling him.

"What's going on?" he demanded again, more insistently this time. "What is this?"

Pearl stepped into the hall, tugging a housecoat on over her pyjamas. "Nick? What is it?"

The man in the door looked from Phoenix to Pearl and back again, his expression apologetic. "It's a warrant, sir," Dick Gumshoe explained. "For the arrest of Pearl Fey."

Pearl's eyes went wide. "What?" she gasped, but Gumshoe had already pushed past the frozen Phoenix to take the young woman's arm and gently handcuff her wrists together in front of her.

"Pearl Fey," he began, sounding doleful as he led her from the apartment, ignoring her protests. "You are under arrest for theft, releasing private documents to the press, and unlawful destruction of evidence..."

Phoenix watched them go, his mind blank and body numb. It was only after Gumshoe's voice and Pearl's cries of "Nick, help!" faded from the hallway that Phoenix noticed there had been another visitor.

Edgeworth stood in the doorway, arms folded and expression stern. Phoenix flew at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking hard, trying to dislodge his friend from the monster who had just arranged for sweet, innocent, adorable Pearls to be led away in handcuffs.

"What the hell are you doing, Miles?!"

Edgeworth broke from his friend's grasp with ease and grinned humourlessly. "I know who the Yatagarasu is, Wright. Pearl has to be part of it. There are no other options."

"But Pearl is innocent!" Phoenix shouted. "She's not stealing! She's not responsible!"

"I know." Edgeworth turned his eyes to Phoenix, and the defense attorney was shocked by the hard, cruel edge to his gaze. "But I know who is. And I'm going to smoke her out."

* * *

a.n.

This doesn't look good, does it?


End file.
